Change Your Mind
by tatterdemalion
Summary: France shows up at Canada's house. Canada interprets it in his usual-but-super-annoying self-deprecating way. Franada   foot fetish...wait, what?


**Title:** Change Your Mind

**Author:** tatterdemalion, grosse_averse on LJ

**Rating:** M for sexy feet times eventually ending in actual sexy times.

**Characters:** France, Canada

**Warnings: **Badly written, spur of the moment, foot fetish, pooorn.

**Note: **Super super) Belated birthday present for o0litodreamer0o on livejournal...IDK why I even wrote this, feet gross me out like nobody's business D: But here we are.

* * *

Canada knew it was a bad idea to invite France into his house. Every time he did, the older nation would do something that sent chills running down Canada's spine, leaving him with the sneaking, angry suspicion that France was doing these things entirely to frustrate him. When France showed up at his door with a too bright smile and a flowery kiss on the cheek, Canada had smiled reluctantly. When France had offered to cook lunch for him, a savory crepe with ham and cheese, Canada had begun to relax; and when France had shooed him onto the couch while he took care of the dishes, Canada allowed the last wisp of suspicion to leave him, settling down in the living room to attend to his book. After France had finished the dishes, he came to join Canada, perching himself on the chair opposite, folding his hands in his lap.

Canada looked up. "I'm sorry!" he exclaimed. "Do you want me to get you a book?"

France smiled. "That is a wonderful idea, _merci_!" he praised. "Find me one of your authors, _non_? It has been a while since I've read something from your house."

Dutifully, Canada got up and traipsed the short distance to his study, where he kept his growing collection of paperbacks and hard covers. When he returned, France had toed off his leather shoes, sitting with legs crossed.

"Thank you." he said politely, taking it from Canada, allowing their fingers to brush momentarily.

The suspicion returned.

"You haven't come to visit me in a long time, Francis." Canada began lightly as he sat back on the couch. "I'm starting to wonder if you had an ulterior motive?"

France pulled a look that Canada knew very well - half-hearted feigned suspicion masking a self-satisfied grin.

"My dear, you think so lowly of your papa?" he asked, hand over his heart. "And here I was just the other day, thinking how much I missed seeing my Mathieu."

Canada _knew_ he was going to say that, _knew_ he wasn't serious, but still felt the old familiar embarrassed flush rise in him, felt himself dip his head and mutter a soft apology into his book. When he dared to look up again, France was watching him with an exasperated look on his face, chin propped up on his hand.

"My dear." he said, frustration evident in his tone. "I was _joking_."

Canada smiled, weakly. "I know." he said. "I - I got that part, thanks Francis."

France clicked his tongue, shaking his head with all the force a disapproving parental figure can muster.

"I have known you for years and you are still unable to joke with me." he said, sadly. "If you have something to say, Mathieu, for God's sake say it! You think that being polite is the best way to deal with a situation but it is not always so. I just wish you would have more _confidence_ in yourself."

Canada resisted the urge to roll his eyes. Another visit from France, another quasi-lecture. He was so tired of this, and could practically recite France's next words as the older nation continued to examine him, blue eyes sharp.

"When you are with your brother, and he pushes you enough - " France paused to let out a rather dreamy sigh. " - ah, then I see that fire. But that should not be what it takes, do you understand?"

"Yes, Papa." Canada said dutifully, eyes drifting down to his book in the hope that France would get the hint. It seemed to work - there was silence. When Canada looked up, France was still watching him, but watching him as if he had just thought of something and was eager to share it.

"...Is something wrong?" Canada asked hesitantly. His stomach fluttered with nervousness. Maybe he could fake being sick as an excuse to go up to his bedroom and hide?

"Everything is _perfect_." France cooed. "Please, continue reading - you look like you are interested."

Reluctant to take his eyes off his guest, Canada returned to his book. After a while France got up and asked to use his shower, which Canada happily agreed to - it would at least save him the awkwardness of always having to look up into those _eyes_.

It took almost an hour for France to come back down - during that time, Canada had listlessly finished the chapter of his book, picked idly at the threadbare part of the couch, gotten up several times to check the fridge, though he was not particularly hungry. Toeing off his socks and lying down on the couch hadn't helped, as it had lulled him into a sated, post-lunch sleepy state of mind. His feet hung over the arm of the couch and he swung them lazily, idly, letting his heels thump against the hard side.

He turned his head woozily as he heard footsteps - he hadn't seen hide nor hair of Kumajiji, who had probably been snoozing in the pile of laundry in the dryer. It figures the bear would appear to bug him just as he was getting comfortable.

"Kuma," he mumbled, "There's tuna in the fridge..."

There was a low chuckle and a brush of air past his cheek. Canada's glasses were on the table, and when he cracked his eyes open all he saw was a blurry mess of gold and blue.

"I think," came France's amused voice, "That you were rather bored without me, _non_?"

Canada mumbled something indistinguishable and France laughed again. When Canada felt warm hands on his feet he jumped, kicking out reflexively.

"Now, now." France clicked his tongue and pressed his thumbs gently into Canada's insteps. "Let's not be violent, hm? Just _relax_."

Canada let out a breath through parted lips as France began working his left foot with talented hands, massaging the ball of his foot, stroking up his foot and squeezing rhythmically. Without thinking Canada moaned and the hands stilled.

"Does that feel good?" France asked.

"'S nice." Canada murmured in response, flexing his toes with contentment. There was a pause - just as Canada began to prop himself up on his elbows, wondering if he'd crossed the line, he felt something wet and warm encircle his big toe.

Letting out a rather unmanly yelp, Canada shot up and demanded, "_What are you doing_?"

Even without his glasses he could feel the intensity of the smile that was directed at him, as France stopped sucking on his toe and peered at him from behind his feet.

"What did I just tell you?" his voice was amused. "Relax."

"How can I relax when you're - _ah_." Canada twitched as France resumed his sucking, laving around his toe nail and across the sensitive underside of his toe.

"That's so _gross_, Francis, stoppit!" Canada whined half-heartedly, trying to ignore the way his heart was speeding up and his palms were getting sweaty. France ignored him, choosing instead to pull Canada's big toe out of his mouth with a 'pop' and move on to the others. One by torturous one he wet each of the toes on Canada's left foot, ignoring any weak protests and pleas the younger nation tried to voice.

"If you really don't want it, then tell me, truly, no." he told Canada solemnly. "Until then? I will continue."

He licked a line up the sole of Canada's foot, nibbled at the skin that hid between his toes, and kissed his way back down the outside of his foot down to his heel, rough and chafed by long work days and too-tight polished shoes.

"Your feet look dreadful." France commented off-handedly, wetting his fingers with his tongue. Canada's toes were cooling from lack of attention and the younger blond shivered. "You need an exfoliation of some sort. Lovely toes, however."

Before Canada could fluster from the rather bizarre compliment, Francis was applying suction, teeth, and tongue to Canada's heel, traveling up a bit to suck hard on the calloused Achille's tendon before resuming his original attentions.

"Wh-why are you doing this?" Canada asked, a little forlornly - as much as this was making heat pool in his stomach, even _France_ of all people wasn't known to just suddenly start sucking on people's feet. Either France was in need of money, or Canada had become the butt of another post-drinking dare. He wondered if Prussia was somewhere in the house, laughing at the results.

France looked up at him then, blue eyes so serious Canada felt like kicking him in the face. Shouldn't he be laughing, brushing this off as a joke? Anything but the evenness in his expression, the familiar curve of his lips missing and replaced with a thin line, studying Canada's reactions, waiting. Angrily, frustration rising up his throat, Canada yanked his foot away from France - the older nation let him, elbows propped up on the arm of the couch.

"I think you should leave." he ground out between gritted teeth. "Go back to making fun of someone else."

"I'm not making fun of - " France began but Canada sat up, face burning.

"'_When you are with your brother and he pushes you enough_'," Canada mimicked, cruelly. "Is that what you were doing just then? Congratulations, you succeeded. J-just please leave."

"Mathieu." France put a hand on his ankle, pulling him backwards. "Mathieu, I'm sorry. I crossed the line, I've upset you."

Canada glared as hard as he could, which wasn't much when France was using that _face_.

That just wasn't fair.

"W-well, that's not a very funny joke to play on someone." Canada muttered sullenly, trying to pull his feet under him (France quickly put a stop to that effort) "No matter how much money Prussia might've paid you to do that."

"I wouldn't suck on someone's feet even if that loud-mouthed drunkard paid my national debts twice over." France said dryly. Canada raised his eyebrows.

"Then why - ?"

"I would never put feet in my mouth unless I wanted to." France finished. His hand reached out to settle on Canada's knee. Canada blinked once, twice.

"I don't understand." he said finally. He could tell France was graciously resisting the urge to roll his eyes.

"Of course you don't." he sighed. "Here. Let me show you."

Then France leaned up and over half the couch and was kissing Canada, and Canada was kissing back before he knew it. It was only until he remembered that his _feet_ had just been inside France's _mouth _did he break the kiss, looking down and focusing on a button that was dangerously loose on France's shirt.

"I'm just wondering how you thought this was a logical subject jump." he admitted with a bit of a bite to his tone. "You show up for lunch, suck on my feet and then kiss me without explaining anything."

France looked rather exasperated. "Anyone else would think this was nice." he pointed out, with a sulky pout, leaning back on Canada's shins. Canada stifled a grin.

"You could always try it with them?" he retaliated with a little bitterness. "I'm sure they would respond much more positively?"

France stared at him in that way he usually stared at England when he had a bit too much to drink.

"There is no one else I would want to try it with." he admitted, adding, "Perhaps I made a...bad first impression? Let me try again."

Canada hesitated as they locked eyes. "Okay." he agreed, and swallowed as Francis slid himself back down the length of the couch and took Canada's right foot in his lap. Bringing it up to his lips, France locked eyes with Canada before sucking on the big toe. Canada bit his lip, feeling himself flush...all over. Even the back of his hand was prickling with heat. France paused briefly to take one of Canada's hands and place it over the younger nation's crotch.

Without even knowing why, Canada began to stiffen, and he held back a groan of wonder. He moved his hand experimentally, stroking up and down, and France mirrored the action on Canada's foot.

Squeezing his eyes shut with embarrassment, Canada whimpered, "I can't believe I'm doing this!"

France laughed, and then applied his tongue to the pads of Canada's toes.

When he couldn't see France, it was less embarrassing - biting his lip he squeezed himself through his jeans, stroked the outline of his erection, and debated pulling down the zipper just a little...

"Look at me." France's voice was husky and demanding. "Mathieu, my darling, _look at me_."

His voice sent shockwaves through Canada's system. "I can't." he choked out, tilting his head back until the bridge of his nose touched the arm of the couch.

"Why not?"

"B-because I won't be able to hold it." Canada ground out. "If I look at you, it'll...it'll be over."

"That's fine." France's smile was practically audible. "We have all the time in the world. I just want you to look at me."

Blearily cracking one eye open, then the other, Canada risked lifting his head and peering down the line of his body, where France was still a lovely blur at his feet. Something warm stirred in Canada's gut, something based on years of unrequited love and wicked after-dark thoughts, and he let go of the last lingering feelings of doubt.

"I..." Canada fumbled hastily with the button of his jeans - hey, if France was going to go berserk, Canada might as well get a fuck out of it. "Hold on, _fuck_."

"And suddenly we are so eager." France remarked idly as he let go of Canada's foot, allowing the younger nation to shuck off his pants. Canada shot him a wry stare.

"Don't stop." he said, more of an order with an edge of a whine. "Dammit, Francis..."

France laughed. "Well, there is that fire I was expecting."

"Oh, shut up." Canada muttered, and sat up so he could hook an arm around France's neck. "If you're going to come into my house and say those sorts of things, you're going to at least _finish_ the job."

"I have never declined a challenge." France mused wickedly, before pushing them both down flat on the couch. Canada tilted his head up to allow France to press open-mouthed kisses to the flat of his throat.

"So out of all the houses you could've shown up at," he murmured at the ceiling, moving underneath France so he could hook a leg around the older nation's waist, "Why mine?"

"I am a little disappointed," France said against his throat, nuzzling his stubble so it grazed Canada's neck, "that you have not figured it out yet."

"Huh?" Canada said rather eloquently as he attempted to rut against France without the other man knowing. France sighed.

"Of all the times I have caught you watching _me_," the older nation continued, ignoring the bright flush that flooded Canada's face. "I was so sure that you, in turn, would've seen me watching _you_."

Canada exhaled, shakily, as France slid a hand between their bodies, slipping his fingers through the flap of his boxers.

"So let me watch you now." France murmured against Canada's lips. "I've been imagining the faces you would make."

Canada abandoned himself then, to a man he had been sure he would never have. As France prepped him with careful, talented fingers Canada opened his legs, panting, violet eyes glazed. When France pressed into him in a rush of brief, wide-open _pain_ and the sensation of being filled in such a meaningful way.

Canada gave a low, breathless sigh, letting his breath hiss out at the end, that deliciously addictive flare of pain tapering off into an absurd form of comfort. Hooking his legs around France's waist, stammering nonsense into his ear, he let himself be washed away by the sensations, by the movements. He was vaguely aware of an ache in his head; France was slamming him against the arm of the couch with every thrust. The older nation's eyes were lidded, lips parted. He looked heart-breakingly beautiful.

"Francis, Francis, Francis," Canada babbled, pressing lips to the underside of France's jaw and wishing that this would go on forever, that it would mean something at the end.

* * *

"You know," France said from his perch on the window seat, watching Canada unfurl himself from the sheets, nervous and shaky in the aftermath. The French nation was sprawled out, still nude, sole of his foot propped up on the sill, "I meant what I said."

Canada sucked in a breath, lacing his fingers together over his knee. The ache in his head had subsided to a dull throb and he was sitting in dampness.

"...What did you say?" he asked lightly, with a small laugh. "It's - you said so many things..."

"I know you don't think I'm serious," France said, tucking a stray piece of hair behind his ear. "About you. And that is really no surprise because I am aware that nobody really takes me seriously."

Canada opened his mouth to disagree but France held up a hand. "And for now I am content for you not to believe me." here a smile crept up the corners of his mouth.

"But I can assure you that I will do everything in my power to change your mind."

Sitting there, in his own bed, seeing the light that framed France's blond hair and feeling the dark thoughts of yesterday clear from his mind, Canada thought that maybe he wouldn't mind.


End file.
